


Obedient, Discreet, Graceful

by LadyoftheGreenKirtle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, POV Pansy Parkinson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 19:16:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6207202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheGreenKirtle/pseuds/LadyoftheGreenKirtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rise to the forefront of the Dark Lord's ranks is never easy, but a true Slytherin Princess never disappoints.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obedient, Discreet, Graceful

Pansy Parkinson was a good girl. She obeyed her mother. She wore tasteful earrings and seasonally appropriate lipstick. She was careful to never be caught without two coats of mascara, even by her owl. Her flat had been decorated by a professional, and it was cleaned once a week by a maid her mother had suggested. Pansy had a shimmering blonde bob and wide blue eyes. She was obedient, discrete and graceful. 

The Dark Lord didn’t care about any of that. 

He liked the side of Pansy Parkinson that was quiet and efficient. On Pansy’s seventeenth birthday, he called her to him. She arrived two minutes early, in a pressed black pencil skirt and glossy six inch heels. Voldemort laughed when he saw inside her mind, and ran a proprietary hand over her hair. She suppressed a shudder and kept her eyes on the ground. He approved of what he saw, her vicious side, and of course, her discretion. After the debacle with Bella, he had very little patience for time wasters. Pansy, he felt, would not disappoint. 

Pansy was not asked how she felt. 

After she was Marked, she sat rigidly in the same position for over an hour, collecting her thoughts. When Draco finally came for her, she looked at him with carefully disguised anger. He was the reason she was in this mess. From that point on, all Pansy thought about was escape. She had never wanted to be a Death Eater. She’d wanted to marry into the Malfoy family. She would have been rich, and raised little pure blooded babies, and been a trophy wife. Pansy had never wanted to fight, to kill, to get her perfectly manicured nails bloody. 

 

On her first mission, she proved herself to her Lord with an efficient slicing Hex to Lavender Brown’s throat. Blood soaked Lavender’s messy blond curls and Pansy watched, face impassive as a mask. She brought the memory back and Voldemort smiled at her and called her his little dark dove. Pansy smiled at him helplessly. 

Two weeks after she murdered Ron Weasley (a tidy Avada Kedavra), Pansy went to see her mother. As she walked into the Manor, delicate lace espadrilles silent on the marble floors, she looked around at the lovely flower arrangements and high arching ceilings and felt out of place. At tea with her mother, Rose Parkinson was gently disapproving of “That silly club, dear. Now I support blood supremacy as much as the next witch, but it seems very crude, darling. Why don’t you join a flower arranging society or a book club? No one will want to marry a witch who gets her hands dirty. It isn’t proper.” She gave a derisive sniff. Pansy explained that one didn’t say no to the Dark Lord. Her mother warned her to keep it quiet, after all “People do talk, Pansy. I don’t want eligible young men reconsidering their suits.” Pansy smiled blandly at her mother and added another sugar cube to her tea. Her mask grew heavier. Rose Parkinson prattled on about Narcissa Malfoy’s garden party next week and how “simply awful it is that you let that nice Malfoy boy go”. As Pansy left, newly mowed down by her formidable mother, she clenched her jaw to ensure a tearless facade. She shook out her hair and apparated to her flat with a confident tilt of her head, oversized sunglasses in place. 

A month and a half later, Pansy comes home to Draco in her flat, Blaise Zabini in tow. Zabini isn’t Sacred Twenty-Eight, but he’s hardly a halfblood. Pansy smiles at him coquettishly and then reprimands Draco for drinking all her pumpkin juice. And out of the jug too. She wrinkles her nose. 

Three days after that she’s organizing her silk dresses by color and designer when she’s Summoned. As she appears before the Dark Lord she is shocked to see little Mudblood Granger. She’s trussed up, lying on the stone before the Dark Lord, making these little whimpering noises. Pansy stares and goes to stand behind Voldemort like the little pet she is. He caresses her bare shoulders and she swallows hard. “It’s funny, love, however late I summon you, you are always a vision.” He remarks, gesturing at her blood red pumps and white silk halter dress. She feels the weight of her chunky red necklace resting against the flat of her exposed collarbone. She grips her wand. He lazily waves towards Granger, no, Hermione, and she absorbs the unspoken order. She releases the ties around the other girl’s wrists and Hermione stands up slowly. Pansy stares into the eyes of her Gryffindor nemesis and sighs gently, softly, a lady to the last. Granger understands what is going on, picks it up far more quickly than any of her murdered counterparts, and nods at Pansy. 

Pansy kills her. 

A year later, all the damnable members of the organization formerly known as the Order of the Phoenix are dead. Fourteen of them died at Pansy’s well manicured hands. She sits alone in her flat, a forgotten mug of cold tea in front of her and she thinks. When Draco drops by two days later, she hasn’t moved. He pulls her up, explains that her elves summoned him, worried sick about their Mistress. She explains some things to him and he kisses her cheek gently. He helps her to her room, and she showers and dresses while he writes letter after letter. When she emerges in a black sheath and the same tall heels she wore to meet the Dark Lord, so long ago, she puts on her sunglasses and he takes her hand. 

A fortnight afterwards, Voldemort is giving his speech, the speech to end all speeches. Banners wave, children cheer, hedge witches beam. He kisses babies, and orders tax reductions. Pansy stands still and silent behind him, a loyal lieutenant. When the moment is correct, she looks to Draco. He nods and with an efficient, tidy and discreet wand movement, Lord Voldemort is done. 

Harry Potter handled the horcruxes, and Pansy Parkinson finished the job, people say, once public opinion turns against the Death Eaters. Pansy disappears to a remote island with Draco Malfoy. She gets her blonde babies, acts the society wife. And if Draco never really loves her, if there’s a little too much steel and blood in her, no one ever knows. She stays masked. She stays ice.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly just fell on my keyboard and this happened. I would like to issue a formal apology.


End file.
